


Die a Little Hutch

by PatL



Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Inspired by a poem written by Sonja van Schalm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-25
Updated: 2004-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatL/pseuds/PatL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Belinda Williams finally loses her battle with heroin, Hutch is reminded of his own struggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Die a Little Hutch

Die A Little, Hutch  
(Inspired by Sonja van Schalm's poem: Die a Little More)

The dispatcher said it was an OD. That wasn't a surprise, considering the part of town they were called to. But when Detective Sergeant Ken Hutchinson pulled the sheet back and saw the familiar face, he couldn't stop the whisper of denial.  
"No."  
He could feel Starsky's hand on his shoulder but couldn't take his eyes off the still form. One of the uniformed officers that had answered the call knelt down beside Hutch.  
"Do you know her?"  
Starsky nodded. "Her name is Belinda Williams. We met her while we were working on another case."  
As Hutch looked at slender body and light brown hair, his mind took him back to another time. They were searching for Vic Rankin, who was on the run after stealing two thousand dollars in counterfeit money from Garth White. Belinda once sang for him, before gambling took over Vic's life, and heroin destroyed hers.   
He remembered how she looked that day, sweating, shaking, and pale. She wouldn't look at them at first, embarrassed about her state of withdrawal. She was alone with her pain. There was no one to hold her while the chills wracked her body. There was no one there to give her coffee and candy bars as cramps sliced her stomach in two. There was no one to whisper words of comfort and encouragement as she fought the demons inside. There was no one to help her through it, like Starsky had helped him.   
She hadn't given them much, but when they left, Hutch had given her a twenty. His words came back to haunt him.  
"Here, Belinda, die a little."  
Hutch gently touched the cool cheek. "She was doing so well."  
The uniformed officer gazed at the blond detective. "You try to see the best in everybody, Hutch. But you know how the stuff is. Once it's inside of you, it's hard to let go. Some people just can't fight it."  
His words hit Hutch like a fist in the stomach. He staggered to his feet and stumbled out of the room, leaving Starsky to deal with the body.  
He covered Belinda's face again and stood up. "Tell the coroner he can have her now. We'll need the autopsy report before we can officially declare it an overdose."  
George Lambert nodded then gestured toward the door. "He really bleeds for them, doesn't he? It's like he knows how they feel."  
Starsky stared at the body under the sheet. "Yeah, he knows."  
Shaking his head once, Starsky went looking for his partner. He found Hutch back in the Torino, sitting on the edge of the seat, the passenger door open, staring into space. He didn't look up when Starsky knelt beside him.  
"How could this happen? She had her life back, Starsky. Vic and Evelyn helped her kick it. She even stayed with them for a while. She was singing with Vic again at the club. Damn it, she won! How could she just throw it all away?"  
"I don't know, Hutch. We'll talk to Vic, but I don't know if we'll find the answers you need. Maybe she tried, but she just wasn't strong enough to beat it."  
He patted the blond on his knee then stood up. "Come on; we can't do anything else for her. You want to go by Huggy's and have a beer and a bite to eat?"  
Hutch shook his head. "I just want to go home."  
The brunet studied his friend. "Are you sure? I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone right now."  
There was an edge to the blond's voice. "I won't do anything stupid, Starsky. I won't go looking for a fix."  
Starsky flinched at the words. "I know you won't, Hutch. You didn't go looking the first time. I'm just worried about you."  
"I'll be fine, Starsk. I just need some time to think."  
Starsky sighed. "OK, I won't push it. I'll take you home. If you need me, all you have to do is call."  
Hutch nodded then slumped against the seat, closing his eyes. He didn't say another word on the way to Venice Place. Starsky watched his friend trudge up the sidewalk, concern radiating from his eyes. Cursing at Fate, he slowly drove away.

Hutch sat on his couch, the small lamp on the table the only light in his apartment. He stared at the album in his hands. Vic Rankin was one of his favorite jazz musicians. He'd bought the albums when he was still in high school, while Vic was at the height of his career. In his mind, he heard Belinda's voice accompanying Vic on most of the tracks. She was no Billie Holiday, but her range and style complimented Vic's magical fingers.   
"Why Belinda, why did you do it? Why did you go back?"  
He rubbed the inside of his elbow as he thought about Forrest. Unlike Belinda, his addiction wasn't by choice. The heroin was forcibly injected into his bloodstream in an attempt to learn where he had hidden Jeannie Walden. His cheeks burned with shame as he remembered blurting out the location, and then begging for another fix as Forrest walked out of the room. Although the marks on his arm had long since faded away, he swore that he could still feel them as he ran his fingers up his arm.   
As he looked down, he could see the small, round needle marks as they looked that night. He stared hatefully at them. They were reminders of a nightmare he wanted to forget, but would always remember. The tiny punctures grew larger and larger as he glared at them, taking on a life of their own. Hutch stared in horror as inanimate holes turned to miniature mouths, with thin lips and perfect tiny white teeth.   
"Come on, Hutch. You know you want it."  
"You're a junkie, Hutch. Admit it."  
"Don't you miss it?"  
"Don't you want to feel that rush again?"  
"Do you remember how good it felt?"  
"Once a junkie, always a junkie, isn't that what they say?"  
"Come on; take one more ride to dream land."  
"Wouldn't you just die for another ride?"  
Hutch shook his head without taking his eyes off the disembodied mouths. "No."  
A new mouth appeared in the center of his elbow.   
Belinda's voice whispered to him. "Go on, Hutch, die a little."  
"Come on; you know you want it."  
"Junkie."  
"Fill that needle with liquid fire and put that strap around your arm. You know how it's done. Lie back and take that magic carpet ride just one more time."  
"No!"  
Hutch threw the album on the floor and ran into the kitchen. He turned on the water and grabbed a scouring pad, scrubbing his arm furiously in an attempt to drown the tormenting voices.  
The mouths disappeared from inside his elbow as the skin turned an angry red. But the voices didn't stop. As quickly as the orifices vanished from his arm, they reappeared in the air around his head like animated bubbles.  
One by one, the mouths sneered at him. "If it was legal, you'd do it."  
"Junkie."  
"If you didn't have to worry about people talking behind your back, you'd do it."  
Belinda's voice mocked him. "Go on, Hutch, die a little."   
"Junkie."  
He scrubbed harder. "Shut up!"  
"If those silly laws didn't exist, you know you'd do it."   
"If you didn't have to worry about your precious career, you know you'd do it."  
"Shut up!"  
"You'd be the first one in line, giving your money to the Candy man."  
"Die a little, Hutch."  
He threw the scouring pad in the sink and turned around, sliding down the cabinet until he was sitting on the floor. "Shut up!"   
"Give in to it, Hutch."  
"You know you want it."  
"You know where to find it."  
"Go find a street corner and hide in the alleys."  
"Put that needle in your arm just one more time."  
"Junkie."  
"Die a little."  
Drawing his knees up against his chest, he clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't see the vile apparitions hanging in the air, but he could still hear the voices inside his head as they taunted him, tormenting him.  
"Go on, Hutch; try it just one more time."  
"Do it, Hutch."  
"You know you want it."  
"Junkie."  
"Do it, Hutch."  
"Go on, Hutch; die a little more."

 

"Starsky!"

He didn't hear the door open, but he felt the arms surrounding him, pulling him close. He slowly let his hands drop away from his ears and clung to the soft cloth of a worn t-shirt. As he laid his head on the broad shoulders, he smelled the familiar after shave. A soft voice whispered words of comfort as fingers gently stroked his hair.  
"I'm here. It's okay. I've got you now."  
The sharp creases around his eyes disappeared as he relaxed. The jackhammer that was his heart gradually slowed. The steel bands that were clamped around his chest dropped away, letting him breathe again. The raging storm of pain and fear crashed against a wall of friendship, trust, and love.  
And the voices stopped.

The End

Story by Pat L.  
Edited by Sonja van Schalm  
May 25, 2004


End file.
